


Hold it Together

by lunamoonagalaxy



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Fitzroy is Tired and So Are You, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunamoonagalaxy/pseuds/lunamoonagalaxy
Summary: Fitzroy Maplecourt is tired. He’s tired of pretending like he’s in control, as if everything was always given to him, as if his reputation isn’t always on the line. He’s tired of pretending like he isn’t angry. He’s tired of fighting the chaos that swirls underneath his skin.
Relationships: Master Firbolg & Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt & Althea Song
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Episode 17 of TAZ: Graduation! You have been warned.  
> First fic on here, lmk what y'all think. I love my good, good boys.

Fitzroy has been having a tough week. He already thought he was metaphorically cursed, what with the whole developing-magic-and-turning-your-professor-into-a-catfish deal. But then he found that he was  _ actually  _ cursed. By a shitty wizard, no less. A wizard who was weak and probably wasted all his spell slots, the sniveling bastard. But now Fitzroy was seemingly curse-free. He had the brand to prove it. Yet, the magic within him felt like it was just waking up. Every time he moved he could feel it swirling beneath his skin, as if it was making up its mind whether it wanted to fuck him over or not. Maybe it would turn someone else into a slimy bottomfeeder? Or perhaps teleport him into another plane? Maybe he could have another chat with the Xorn, then get suffocated by a thousand kilos of rock?

The curse may have been lifted and the rune on Calhain’s hand destroyed, but Fitzroy was  _ tired _ . More tired than he’d ever been in his life. It was like every sleepless night studying for another magic exam had caught up to him all at once. And as the centaur’s around him continued on with their laborious peace talks, Fitz felt himself drifting off. He leaned to the side, seemingly unaware of the Firbolg’s shoulder that he was now using as a pillow.

The Firbolg opened his mouth to speak, but Argo put a finger to his lips. “Let him rest,” Argo whispered. The Firbolg only nodded in reply, happy to oblige this momentary silence from his usually chatty compatriot. 

* * *

When Fitzroy wakes up, it's 12 hours later and all he can remember is a pair of winking white eyes. And then he feels the residual sting of the brand on his torso, and it all comes flooding back. He groans as he sits up, and he sees Argo’s concerned face watching over him as he blinks. Fitzroy smiles. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this!” Fitzroy jokes, happy to see the worry vanish from Argo’s features.

Argo laughs in return. “I spend a lot of time hanging out at your bedside.” 

There isn’t nearly enough time to unpack everything that goes through Fitz’s head. There’s a lot to talk about, a lot of conversations that need to be held. He suddenly wishes he had stolen that privacy ring off of Althea after all, just so he and Argo could talk. But there wasn’t nearly enough coherency to his thoughts. And a wizard needed to get their ass handed to them. 

So Fitzroy mends an apple, stumbles out of bed, throws up out of the hole in the tent Calhain used to escape, and finds his way to the makeshift prison where Calhain is being kept. It’s a tough walk, and even after his long rest, Fitzroy is tripping over his own feet. The anger he felt that morning wavers, if only for a moment. Argo seems to notice the way Fitz’s eyebrows fall, his elven ears drooping.

And, on instinct, Argo makes a joke to lighten the mood. A performance, of course, a ruse to trick Calhain and scare him into submission. “Listen, I got a little somethin’ that might help, y’know, chum the water a little bit, hold on--” And Argo lies, and the Firbolg tells the truth, and Fitzroy laughs and calls them idiots, and it feels right again.

Then Calhain is diminished into a pile of black ooze. 

* * *

The ride back to the school is so tense Fitzroy is nearly suffocated by it. He’s used to the Firbolg’s silence, but Argo’s reticence is unsettling. Althea looks deep in thought, and Rhodes, Mimi, and Moon have this expression that Fitzroy can only compare to awe-struck horror. And it seems, almost, like it’s directed at  _ him _ . Which is annoying, really, because wasn’t he the one who kind of saved everyone’s asses? I mean, sure, some people got electrocuted, and he did kind of chop Calhain’s hand off, but Argo started it--! Without realizing it, his hands are clenched at his sides, and he can feel the chaotic energy finding its way to his palms and fingertips. Fitzroy hates this  _ silence _ , he hates that he feels like he caused it. He hates that he has to think, and he wishes there was something, anything, to assuage the growing anger inside himself. 

Whether it was the mounting darkness in his eyes, or the crackling magical energy around him, but Althea noticed Fitzroy’s state. “Hey, uh, Fitzroy--?” She asks, a growing concern in her voice.

“What?” Fitzroy huffs, the magic around him vanishing like a crack of lightning. 

Althea’s eyes go wide, then they return to her usual placidness. Fiztroy hates how she notices things. She’s like a particularly obnoxious detective. Why can’t anyway stay out of his fucking business? With a shake of her head, Althea sighs. “Nothing, Fitzroy, it’s nothing… Nevermind.” 

Fitzroy shakes his head and returns to his brooding. It doesn’t feel like nothing. In fact, it feels like he’s being investigated. Again. First Argo, who somehow knew all that shit about his family. And now Althea, with her eyes gliding over everyone, taking them in, judging right or wrong. Who’s to say, really, that she’s on their side? What has she done to prove herself? 

Well. She did save him from the curse. At the cost of his flawless skin, might he add. It wasn’t always easy, but if he wanted to, Fitzroy could always find some reason to block everyone out. Sometimes he felt like no one was trustworthy. Like it was just him and no one else. But now… things were different. He had his friends. And he had Chaos, who, whether he liked it or not, gave him this magic. And as he stares at his palms, the conduit to his magic, to his rage, to his unpredictability-- Fitzroy only feels the oppressive calm before a frenzied storm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzroy has a conversation with Althea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a depiction of a panic attack as well as general negative thoughts.

Reading about barbarians in dusty old books was different than actually being one. Fitzroy had read about going into rages. When the heat of the battle became too much, when their teammates were fallen, a barbarian could muster all their strength and turn the tide of a fight. And Fitzroy wanted that. He wanted to make an impact, he wanted to move people. He didn’t want to be nameless. In his dreams, he was Sir Fitzroy, Knight in Absentia of the Realm of Goodcastle. And he was so close. And then he lost it all. And he was crushed.

Something happened to him when his magic manifested itself. It was like an electrical current shot up his spine. Ever since the day Chaos imparted their manic energy into him, Fitzroy has felt jolted, staticky, and electric. Often a simple touch would result in a small static shock, which certainly didn’t help him make any friends around Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School. His already extroverted personality became livelier as he tried to emulate his pretentious classmates. Until he was expelled, of course, and then everything became tumultuous, chaotic, and unpredictable.

But Fitzroy was nothing if not determined. If he was magical now then, fine, he could become a sorcerer as well as a barbarian. Yet, all that reading about rages and battle-hungry barbarics could never have prepared him for this. His magic was wild-- erratic and dangerous, it felt like it was always at the tips of his fingers, itching for a new spell to be cast. And when he raged, he  _ raged _ , his anger boiling over in waves of frenetic emotion. 

Althea saw this first-hand during the stand-off with Calhain. Fitzroy was just the type of student she was trained to watch out for: full of potential with no real way to use it. He was strong, fast, and quick-witted. But with a magic like that… she’d never seen anything like it. And apparently, neither had anyone else. She was determined to not only get to the bottom of it but to help in any way she could.

* * *

When the horses pulled into the town of Last Hope, everyone was exhausted and more than a little tired of being around one another. But Althea had questions, and Fitzroy, Argo, and the Firbolg knew it. As they entered the near-empty bar, Althea offered to pay for everyone’s drinks as a sort of peace offering. “Ah, drinks are on me,” Althea interjects, placing three gold pieces on the counter. “I’ve got it.”

Fitzroy gave her a withering look. He scoffed, then turned his attention to Barb, the barkeep. “Oh, sick. I was just about to do the ‘it’s my birthday,’ and then I cry. It works sometimes. Do you want me to try it and save you the three gold?” He regarded Althea with a sideways look that was almost contemptuous. Althea returned his gaze with a similarly incalculable stare.

While Althea and Barb spoke at the bar, Fitzroy sipped his virgin Shirley Temple. The fatigue from the journey was overwhelming, and all he really wanted was to rent a room and get to sleep. Althea, now finished with her conversation, had other plans. “Hey, uh, Fitzroy, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Fitzroy shrugged like he had nothing better to do. “Sure, whatever.” She led him to an empty table in the back, leaving Argo and the Firbolg to argue about the finer points of their sidekick codenames. Althea took a seat and motioned for Fitz to do the same. He obliged, then cleared his throat. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Althea suddenly looked a bit nervous as she smoothed out her autumn-colored hair. “Well… straight to the point, then.” She sighed, continuing, “Well, if I’m honest Fitzroy, it seems like you’ve been cross with me since I first met you. I understand it has been a stressful time for you but--”

Fitzroy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, of  _ course _ it’s been a stressful time. I was-- oh, I don’t know-- cursed!? Then branded?” He was angry now, his drink forgotten. He was furious without any sense to it. His emotions were gone now, leaving behind only magic and vitriol.

“Fitzroy, I understand. I  _ get it _ \--” Althea raised a hand to stop Fitzroy’s incoming interjection-- “I know that things are confusing right now. And I’ve said this before, but I want you to know that I’m here to help. I just… I don’t exactly think it’s fair for you to be treating me like this. I know that the method of breaking your curse was unfortunate. But it saved your  _ life _ , Fitzroy. You understand that, don’t you?” Althea looked at him expectantly, her face equal parts concerned and level-headed.

He tore his gaze downward. He stared at the beads of water condensating on the sides of his drink. He did understand-- he knew he should be grateful. As his magic swelled under his palms, the electric heat rising, he grabbed his cool drink to briefly calm his soaring emotions. He felt empty. “Then why am I so mad?” He said.

Althea wasn’t sure if he was talking to her anymore— his eyes distant— but she responded anyway. “I’m… not entirely sure. But Fitzroy, do you want to know what I think?” Her voice was laced with as much compassion as she could hold. Fitzroy looked up, his eyes shaded by his hair. “I think you’re angry because you feel taken advantage of,” Althea said.

Of all the theories Fitzroy had heard, of all the crackpot nonsense his teachers have thrown at him on why he was so out of control-- this was the only one that made him ponder. He _was_ taken advantage of, wasn’t he? He was told, again and again, what he had to do, who he had to be. He left Knight School because he had to. He got this stupid apple because Higglemas told him to. Hell, he had even listened to the advice of Althea, who he barely knew. How was he so easily manipulated? How could he have done this, again, and again, and  _ again? _ Was he really so stupid that he couldn’t see past what was right in front of him? And everyone knew, except him. His friends had probably-- they had probably heard all about the incident at his last school, and they were just friends with him for pity, right? To make fun of him? That’s why Argo knew all that shit about his family-- to- to just  _ ruin _ him. He shouldn’t have been just on the lookout for Garies,  _ everyone _ had been spying on him and--

Fitzroy felt a cool hand on his arm. He blinked, his eyes coming into focus. The drink in front of him had shattered, it’s contents spilled across the expanse of the table and onto his lap. A maraschino cherry bobbed between bits of broken glass. The hand was Althea’s, a bright light emanating from her palm. Some kind of magic. Fitzroy felt his own magic underneath his skin, swirling, angry and chaotic. He was practically buzzing with it, his breath hitching and his heartbeat thundering in his chest. He shook his head, confused and red in the face. “Did I--?” He looked up. Althea nodded, quiet and contemplative. 

Fitzroy needed to control his magic, but not only that, he needed to hold it together long enough to stop the tears from falling down his cheeks, melting away and evaporating at the sheer quantity of magical energy pouring out of him. And then, behind him, he heard Argo’s voice. 


End file.
